Page 47 of The Princess and the P.I.

Maurice was in control. Right? They were moving to the blue room, and he was in control.

Every person in here wanted to bite Fiona’s ass, and he was first in line, and why those damned cat ears got him so hard was between him and his therapist. Even now, as he looked down, he was harder than bootleg liquor.

His erection stretched the fabric of his tuxedo, curled like a snake; he fought the urge to pull it out again, with no one looking, showing her what she did to him.

His heart galloped at the sight of so many people watching them behind the glass.

This blue room had a slight curve and fewer shadowy corners, so it would be a little more difficult to simulate sex.

He checked on Fiona but could barely rest his eyes on her because her outfit was a fucking defibrillator.

Every time he looked her way, titties pouring out of that barely there bra, rounded belly, pussy dark and glistening through the sheer fabric, she stopped and restarted his heart.

“We’re going to have to make it look real,” she said.

“I can do that,” he whispered in her ear. “Can you?”

“I’ve, um…I’ve not had a ton of—”

Maurice took her mouth, pulling her head back with a hot urgency that surprised him.

His mouth slipped over hers, and her wet, slick tongue slid over his.

He sucked her tongue and nipped at her lips, and butterflies burst out of his low belly.

He was so close to her in the dark room that the boundaries between them seemed to blur and fade.

He hesitated for a second. He knew what he was doing but couldn’t stop himself.

He had kissed before. He had held beautiful bodies in his hands before.

But Fiona’s earnest, seeking kiss was undoing him.

The taste of her lips, the scent of her skin, the unbelievable softness of her body against his—it was final.

Like that fragile sticker they slap on a wood crate right before they ship that shit to Siberia.

He was gone.

“I—Maurice—I—” Again, his mouth crushed into hers. His hands rose to squeeze the nape of her neck.

She pulled back to look into his eyes. She was searching his face—looking at him like she was only just meeting him now.

She looked as surprised by the searing intensity of that kiss as he was. Somewhere along the way, the lines between pretend and real passion had gotten blurred.

But she was so beautiful—her body spilling out of her lingerie, lush everywhere, bee-stung lips, deep brown eyes glistening like she’d dropped belladonna in them. She was soft and yielding, hot, and, for tonight at least, totally his.

She moaned into his touch. And he let himself feel the primal possession that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

“You’re with me all night. Understood?”

“Stop trying to lead.” She looked up at him, a little breathless. “Kissing me like that doesn’t mean I’ll let you take control of this situation.”

When someone slapped the glass, Fiona startled.

Another sex referee with a red card. Their second of the evening.

“Condition of the blue room is visibility,” he said. “This isn’t the back seat of your car.”

“They can’t see us,” she said.

Maurice grunted. The whole fucking reason they were here. “Yeah.” He was dazed and foggy-headed, and his plan was going out of the window.

“Lay down,” he said.

“I don’t think that’s what my character would do. I want to be on top,” Fiona responded, rising always to his challenge.

“Do you even know how to pretend to ride dick?”

Fiona’s eyes shot up. How could she possibly be offended?

“You want to run the show?” Maurice asked. “You’re going to have to sell it on top.”

His eyes flicked to her mouth. That damned kiss ran through his head like a news ticker.

“Sell?”

“Yes…you’re going to sit on it. Grind on it like…The key is the rhythm.”

“What about…” She lifted her hands to her breasts. “Isn’t it realistic for you to play with them a little? Or touch them?”

He cleared his throat. “It would be very realistic.”

She bent over to pull off her underwear, and Maurice accidentally bit his cheek.

“Wait. You can just slip them to the side, right?” he asked, a touch of panic in his voice. “We’re not filming a documentary.”

“No, it’s for the show. The point is the show. Everyone out there is watching and voting. It all counts, so let’s do what we came here to do and get to the black room.”

Maurice scratched his head, feeling a little bit like a teenage boy in over his head.

When she bent down and pulled her underwear off, a string of slickness trailed out from her underwear.

Unbearable tightness at the bottom of his shaft made him afraid he might come in his pants and be laughed out of this establishment.

He was unaware of his hands moving before they were palming her ass.

I guess the show’s starting now.

He pulled down his trousers and let his dick uncoil and bounce high in the air. He heard gasps from behind the glass at the sight of it.

She slowly eased down over him in a straddle, and the heat at her pussy nearly made him thrust into it.

Watching her face as he reached out and settled his cock between her wet lips was so hot that Maurice had to squeeze his eyes shut to not come all over her stomach.

The wet contact—the pulsing head against her clit—made her jerk high, dislodging her breasts from their thin cups.

They knocked together like pears, heavy and ripe on the branch.

A tight nipple swayed at his eye level like a hypnotist’s pocket watch.

God, she is beautiful.

“It would be…realistic,” he panted. Maurice could barely apply the proper amount of bass to his voice. In truth, he was a supplicant. He only wanted to worship at this glorious temple.

Breaking any pretense of self-control, he clamped on to her nipple and sucked hard enough to draw milk.

His wet mouth drew her in, and his other hand kneaded and squeezed the opposite nipple.

He pressed into her plush softness and groaned at the erotic thrill of her body.

It was time for him to admit he was losing the moral high ground, if he ever had it. He moaned over her nipple.

“Oh god…”

She arched her back and ground down on him, but the rhythm was chaotic and awkward.

“Easy, Fiona,” he said, guiding her hips. She was so wet sliding over him.

She was bucking on top of him and rode him too high to be believable.

“Fiona, Fiona, you have to slow down. I know what you’re chasing, but focus on what we’re here to do. You need to sell it.”

When she kept rocking, he grabbed her shoulders. “Fi…”

“Could you help me?” she asked. Her voice had taken on this soft, buttery quality that was driving him a little insane. “Could you help me sell it?”

He nodded with the sincerity of a knight. He rubbed his knuckles over the wet curls at her center, rubbing her swollen clit with his thumb. She kept her eyes on him, biting the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, I can help.” He wasn’t even sure she heard him; he wasn’t sure he said the words out loud. His bare fingers slipped between her folds and found her hot and drenched.

Without thinking, his long fingers slipped inside of her like a hot knife, and Maurice feared he might just flip her over and fuck her now. Because that face…sweet Jesus, when his two fingers slipped inside.

I wasn’t supposed to go this far, right?

They looked at each other for a moment, both wide-eyed and mirroring the shock on the other’s face. Maurice groaned as she clenched around his fingers. He felt it with the lung-squeezing intensity of an asthma attack.

She rocked her hips.

“Maurice, you weren’t”—she whimpered—“supposed to go in.”

“Then say the word.” His mouth closed around her nipple again, tongue lapping at the hardened peak.

“Please,” she rasped out, rocking her hips into his fingers.

She moaned as his fingers slicked in and out.

“That’s not the word.” He smiled over her nipple. “Oh, Kitty Cat, you’re gonna love my dick.”

“I know I will,” she said, rocking on his hand.

Using his wet thumb, he circled her slippery clit. He wasn’t above begging. “You want it deeper? I got something deeper than my fingers.”

She rode his hand, and he smothered himself in her breasts.

He pulled her neck down and devoured her mouth, pulling his fingers out to hold her ass and slide her up and down his shaft.

He could feel her fluttering.

“That’s it, Kitty Cat.” He took her mouth again, slow, dragging kisses that sucked the soul from his body. “The big bad wolf is making you come.” Rubbing, sucking, moans turning into whimpers. Fiona was so soft, all over, fragile and shaking.

“Maurice,” she murmured.

The sounds of her panting breaths were making him lightheaded.

“Maurice,” Fiona moaned, and it sounded like a warning.

If you take me there, you can’t throw me back.

“I got you, baby girl,” he said. He could feel her thighs shaking.

He pulled her hair again—just a gentle tug to remind her to play the game.

The lights came on, and Maurice held her tighter, working the soft, quivering bud with the pad of his thumb.

The flesh of her ass bubbled up like overripe fruit between his fingers.

There was so much of her. He loudly sucked her nipple.

Fuuuck, he was about to bust.

“I’m coming.” She said it so softly that it couldn’t have been for the benefit of the referees.

“There you go, baby girl,” he said against her neck.

She arched her back and caved in on him, coming so softly and sweetly that Maurice’s heart lurched.

Looking down at him like she had seen signs and wonders, she kissed him so tentatively that Maurice wasn’t fool enough to think she was faking.

He kissed her back and splintered. His hips rose with his body’s desperate need to pump her full of him.

He spilled himself without warning on his own stomach like a teenage boy.

Fiona’s eyes fluttered open. “I want to finish—I want all—”

“Hey, your time has been up in here. Let’s give the other couples a chance to make it to black.”

Maurice looked around, a little dazed.

Fiona looked up from his shoulders, eyelashes spiky and lipstick kissed away. “We got to black?”

“Yeah, a long time ago. We thought you all were just showing off.”

Maurice held his chest, because he could not believe how quickly everything had escalated. He felt like a high-speed train just rushed by his face.

Sara was finally on the other side of that curtain. Fiona and Amelia seemed to think she was the center of everything. Maurice just hoped Sara was worth what Fiona had given him.